


doing everything I can

by Alysae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Hurt Tony Stark, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, yes this is basically Tony recovering and having a hard time with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13886067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alysae/pseuds/Alysae
Summary: Tony got injured and now has to deal with it. Now he needs to stay in the care of his teammates and nurses, and go to doctor’s appointments andhe hates it all. He’s an independent man who never needed the help of anyone. He learnt to take care of himself from a very young age and it certainly was not now that he needed to be taken care of.





	doing everything I can

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from NF's song "Let You Down". Which is totally a Tony Stark song if you haven't heard it yet.  
> I wanted to delve more into Tony's daddy issues, which is what the song is all about, but I only implied it because it's quite a big subject that I don't even know if I'm ready for.

It was a simple enough mission, really, and it would have all gone right if Hulk didn’t suddenly crash against Tony’s back in midair and sent him barreling against one of the _flying-magical-motorcycle-thingies_. And that would’ve been okay in and of itself because Tony is great at adapting, he has proven that many times, except the _thing_ lost power, whatever made him fly, and started falling. And dragged Tony with it, crashing painfully to the ground, breaking the armour and _oh, that was definitely his bones_.

Tony groaned painfully as unbearable pain shot through his foot to his head.

He couldn’t move no matter what he tried because whatever he _did_ try, it felt like he was dragging his body and tearing off the skin and muscles and _bones_ of his crushed foot.

There were shouts ahead, but he couldn’t concentrate his mind enough to even try to decipher them. All that went through his brain was the pain and _make it stop, make it stop, make it stop_. There were also steps, approaching slowly, or maybe it was just Tony’s brain that registered everything that happened a little too late.

It was quite hysterical that when both Thor and Steve moved the _not-so-flying-anymore-thingy_ from his foot, instead of alleviating the pain, it just made it all worse and Tony was slightly ashamed by the pitiful whimper that escaped his lips. Tony tried to sit up, to tell everyone to step back─they were crowding around him like _damn fools_ ─but all that came out of his mouth was gurgling sound as nausea hit him violently and his vision started swimming.

 _Concussion_ , his dazed mind supplied. _Possible fracture to the ankle or─_ worse _─heel_.

He only had time to feel hands lifting him off the ground, shooting a sharp pain up his leg, before he blissfully fell unconscious, darkness swallowing him up.

***

Tony woke up, groggily, in the medical bay of SHIELD headquarters. He was lying on a rough mattress, the bed framed with metal, all uncomfortable white sheets, and white walls. Machines beeped to his left, but he looked down at himself─his leg was propped up in a mostly comfortable cushion, a cast encasing his right foot. To his right, there was a drip chamber connected to the needle pierced to the inside of his elbow.

He let his head fall back on his pillow, sighing tiredly. Not even a minute later, the door opened, letting in a doctor followed by Fury and, surprisingly, Steve. Tony internally rolled his eyes (he would have done so physically, but his head hurt enough already)─he really needn’t their screaming about how foolish he was or how he fucked up the mission, probably.

(He couldn’t be sure what happened to the mission─he was too dazed, too in pain, to even give a damn about it at that moment.)

The doctor was checking the beeping machine to his left─ _heart monitor_ , his intelligent brain supplied─and adjusted the drip chamber. Fury and Steve watched him go in silence; Fury had his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the metal bed frame whilst Steve looked at the doctor go with an anxious frown.

Finally, the doctor took the papers on the bedside table and started listing Tony’s physical problems (other than the bits of shrapnel in his chest, obviously). Mild concussion, two bruised ribs, and a couple of ankle fractures.

All in all, two months of rest with his foot always in the air. Three if the pain continues.

 _Fuck_.

But the doctor wasn’t done yet. “From the X-rays that we have done, we recommend surgery to reduce the risk of the fracture not healing and to allow you to start moving your ankle earlier. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, yes,” Tony replied, moving a hand around to emphasise his point. “Just get on with it so I can go home.”

“You will be requested to stay here at the very least three days after the surgery.”

“ _Fine_.”

Moving his hand around had been a mistake─his muscles ached and now he felt dizzy. But it all felt strangely weird, surreal…

“Am I on drugs?”

“Morphine,” the doctor answered, writing something on the paper. “We will reduce the dose each day until you can start taking the appropriate medicine.”

And then he left, saying that he would make preparations for his surgery for the next morning. Which meant four days in the medical bay, unable to do _anything_.

“How are you feeling, Stark?” Fury asked, finally levelling his glare at Tony. He didn’t take it personally─Fury glared for a living. Tony doubted the man knew any other expression.

“Oh, just splendid.”

“Cut the sass, Stark,” Fury began.

“I dunno, Sass is kinda my middle name, probably─”

“I’m taking you off any Avengers mission for the time being,” he finished.

“─What.” He stared.

“You heard me.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to glare. “Yes, I heard you. Thankfully my hearing capability was not damaged, _unlike my fucking foot_ , and I can hear you just fine. What do you mean you’re taking me off any Avengers mission?”

Fury raised a brow as if to say ‘because I can’, but it was Steve who replied. “You’re in no condition to aid the team. In fact, you’d just hinder us by taking step backs in your recovery.”

“I most definitely would _not_.” Now Steve also raised a dubious brow. “ _I wouldn’t_!”

“Look, you need rest. We all agreed to this. And we’ll help as much as we can at the Tower. You just need to worry about getting better─”

“I don’t need your _help_ ,” Tony cut off, his cheeks flushing with anger. “I can take care of myself _just fine_.”

Fury and Steve shared The Look, the one people shared when they doubted Tony’s capacity to survive. Fury shrugged, and they shared another look, a ‘you’re on your own’ look and left the room. Steve’s shoulders immediately slumped, but he still gazed at Tony, determined.

“We’ll come to see you after your surgery─”

“─Don’t bother─”

“Do you want anything to entertain yourself?”

Tony paused, calming his anger to carefully think about that. He loathed to ask for things, but he _was_ going to stay locked up in this place for four days… he doubted he could survive that long without his precious technology or some kind of pet project to take his mind off his broken limb.

“Fine. Bring me my phone.”

Steve’s lips twitched. “Your wish is my command,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He turned around and left.

Finally alone, Tony made himself more comfortable on the bed, trying to ease his tensed up and sore muscles. He rubbed his tired face and felt bandages wound on his forehead. Damn, he must look like a fright. The accommodations were mostly okay, nothing compared to his own fluffy and soft pillows and bed. It certainly did not facilitate his tired mind into sleep.

***

The surgery had been a weird experience that he definitely does not want to repeat again. He would’ve rather have been unconscious during the whole procedure, but the doctors said that anaesthetising only his lower half body would’ve been enough, and Tony had just shrugged with it.

It was only during it that he regretted, buried memories of his time in the cave coming back to the surface─of people surrounding him around his chest, shouting and blurry, of the darkness, and of the _incredibly unbearable pain_ ─

But Tony was all right. He knew the difference. There was a nurse next to him, just beside his head, and everyone else in the room surrounded his foot instead of his chest. It was calm, and mostly quiet save for the soft order from one of the doctors, and bright. There’s a monitor where Tony can see what they are actually doing, he can perfectly hear the drill as they inserted the plate and screws. Everything’s fine.

And, well, if he did sweat a little more than was normal, and if his breathing got a little altered, could anyone really blame him?

***

Steve did keep his promise and came back just after Tony’s surgery accompanied by the others. He handed Tony his phone─his precious, magnificent phone that would keep him company for three long and weary days─and sat in the chair next to his bed. And chairs appeared out of nowhere for the others (Tony suspected that Natasha, or Clint, or both, might’ve gone from door to door discreetly stealing chairs, but he didn’t comment).

As expected, Bruce started to apologise, but Tony had seen that coming and─quite rudely─waved him off before he could even utter a word. _That_ was a conversation he was definitely not comfortable talking about, especially because he certainly did not blame Bruce.

They stayed all afternoon, keeping him company. And Tony was grateful, _really_ , but every second he dreaded embarrassing himself because he couldn’t feel his lower half yet and the chemicals were taking an exceedingly long time to wear off.

And when the anaesthetics wore off, he still was embarrassed when he had to go to the bathroom and felt all eyes on him as he took his crutches and tried, with some difficulty, not to let out a whimper as he instantly felt all the blood rush to his foot and making it hard not to feel the pain.

(Steve had proposed to help him, which he firmly ignored. Who the _hell_ did he think Tony was?)

Three days was a long time for Tony, especially when he was stuck in a bed and couldn’t do anything besides surfing the net on his phone, eating, pissing and showering. ( _Showering_ , yes, because this room didn’t have a fucking bathtub and Tony had to wait for a nurse to help him take a fucking shower _goddammit─_ )

Each day, the Avengers took the time to visit him. They didn’t visit all together, most of the time. Steve was the first to come visit him, in the mornings (probably during his morning runs), and so was the one to wake him up. Then, just before lunch, Bruce visited, usually bringing him a chocolate bar at Tony’s request because the food here was disgusting. Then Natasha, Clint, and Thor came in the afternoon.

Pepper came once to make sure he was all right, but she had a busy schedule and Tony didn’t want to be a hindrance.

And Rhodey was off the country.

Never had Tony been more thankful for having friends like the Avengers. They might have their differences, but they were still a team, and a team needed each other.

***

His return home was anything but joyous.

Firstly, a nurse accompanied him all the way to the ground floor and to his waiting car, as if he was incapable of doing that on his own. And it’s not like she did anything useful, really, since all he did was using the lift and clutching his crutches as he limped to the car.

Secondly, when he got to the tower, there was nobody there to greet him, which was a little disappointing. But it was okay. They were busy, so it was understandable. They had a life to live, after all.

(Tony refused to think about his own life, now.)

And thirdly, when he went to his workshop, he was painfully reminded that he was temporarily no longer part of any Avengers mission. He sat in his most comfortable chair and abandoned his crutches carelessly somewhere.

 _Fine_ , the Avengers didn’t need him in his current situation. That was _totally_ fine. Didn’t mean he was going to sit down and count the hours passing.

“JARVIS, open last project file─ No, no, not the one about Hawkeye's arrows. They don’t _need_ me, obviously. The _other_ one.”

“Sir, the medical report says─”

“I know what the medical report says, JARVIS, no need to remind me. Now, let’s start on this baby,” he said, propping his foot on a cushioned chair nearby.

It was all right.

Who needed rest, anyway?

***

Nothing was all right.

Did he say everything was all right? Well, he takes that back. Everything he said.

“Where the hell are my meds, JARVIS? Did you see where Hap put them?”

There was second, a painstakingly slow second, before JARVIS answered. “Your medical supplies are on top of the table in the living room, sir.”

Tony groaned, his eyes rolling to the back of his mind. He considered having Dum-E go up and fetch them for him, but knowing the robot, it’d just let them slip on the way. He sighed, mentally and physically prepared his arms for the effort, and rolled around in his chair to pick up his clutches.

(As he picked them up from the floor, he couldn’t help but start planning on creating new, improved clutches. Maybe a mechanical skeleton that ran along the back of his leg and helped support his leg up whenever needed? He made JARVIS take note of that idea.)

By the time Tony reaches the living room, the others are already there, comfortably seated on the couch watching some TV show that didn’t really matter. He instantly spotted the medicine right next to Hawkeye's leg on top of the low table between the TV and the couch.

Nobody noticed him, yet, so he started limping towards the table. Natasha noticed him first and frowned. Clint was next, and then Steve. Steve, clearly, couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Didn’t the doctor say to avoid limping?”

Tony felt his eye twitch. “Hello to you, too. Me? I’m fine, of course, save for the fact that my foot is broken. What about you? Cool? Cool. Now leave me alone.”

Petty. But his middle name is Petty, or whatever.

He ignored Steve’s hurt eyes because he really didn’t need that on top of everything. He was already on edge as it was, his foot was shooting pain up his leg like electricity and all he needed was his painkillers.

Once he reached he reached the low table, he fumbled with his right crutch for a moment before Natasha read his intentions and handed him the bag with his meds. He took it, looking away, and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Bruce asked from the other side of the couch.

As if on cue, Tony’s stomach growled at him. Bruce smiled, eyes soft, and started walking to the kitchen. Tony followed at a slower pace. He could smell it, now. When he entered the kitchen, Bruce had a glass of water in hand and was mixing whatever he was cooking. Smelled delicious, though.

Tony sat on one of the chairs at the table and accepted the glass. It’d take around fifteen to thirty minutes to take effect, and would only work for around three hours before the pain came back, but Tony could adapt. He was good at adapting.

Bruce sat on the chair facing him. “How are you fairing up?”

“As good as someone with a broken foot can.”

“Really?” he asked dubiously. “I’m pretty sure anyone─other than you─with a broken foot wouldn’t go down to their workshop and work.” Tony grunted, and as if it was a cue, Bruce continued. “From what I gathered from JARVIS, you were down there since you came back. That’s about eight hours ago.”

“It is rather dark outside,” Tony commented idly. He mentally made a note to tell JARVIS to shut up, because he was going to spend most of his days in his workshop and he certainly needn’t his teammates worried about his _behaviour_.

The corner of Bruce’s lips went down. “I’m not here to lecture you or anything, but if you want to effectively go back fighting beside us, you’ll need your rest. And it certainly isn’t _working_ that you’ll be _resting_ ,” he added when Tony opened his mouth to argue.

There was a tense moment of silence between them, which was something rather unusual because they were Science Bros, but Bruce was kind of annoying him right now.

“ _Fine_.”

And after dinner, he crashed on his bed.

***

The worst thing about his foot being useless, other than the pain, was needing everyone else's help. He realised that he couldn’t have lived with this alone─he needed someone to cook for him (he needed that before his predicament, but that’s irrelevant), to do his laundry (again, _irrelevant_ ), to help him reach or pick things, to shower, to reach for the remote control if it was too far away─

And so many other things.

They’re things he couldn’t just invent a robot or more to do it for him. Fine, he could do that for picking stuff up (Dum-E, thank god he kept him), but cooking and everything else? He doubted.

The second worst thing was the injections each day. Every single day, around five pm, a nurse would come up to inject a vaccine on his side. They would ask him which side he preferred each time, because it was never the same nurse, and he swiftly realised why: wherever they prickled him, it bruised the next day. So one day was his right side, the next his right side, and so on.

It was exhausting, and even if the injection didn’t really make him sleepy, he still went right to bed afterward.

Then there was drawing blood one a week. A nurse would come, this time in the morning, and would prickle his skin with the needle and his blood would fill the little barrel. That meant he had to wake up early, because those damn nurses would come at 8 o’clock sharp.

Everything was awful.

***

Clint and Natasha, his usual TV buddies when Tony was upstairs, were currently at SHIELD, or on a mission, or whatever.

(Nobody told him anything anymore. Maybe they would be afraid Tony would do some madness, like jumping off the tower into his suit and flying to fight monsters or something.

It really was tempting sometimes.)

Bruce was at SHIELD’s headquarters, doing some experiment (SHIELD’s labs looked very tempting now that he wasn’t allowed there) and Thor was off with his girlfriend.

So it was just Tony and Steve, side to side on the couch, watching Home Alone because it was just ludicrous that Steve hadn’t watched them yet.

Next to him, Steve chuckled as one of the burglars fell for the kid’s pranks. “This is how I imagine you’d be as a child,” he confessed.

Tony thought about it for a minute. “Sure, if you had more tech. A _lot_ more tech. And I wasn’t really the pranking type of kid.”

“Really? You don’t give that impression.”

Tony shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “Different times and all that. Today me is really more interesting anyway.”

He changed the subject back to the movie. He certainly didn’t feel like having a heartfelt conversation with Mister _Howard-Stark-was-a-good-man_ over here. It’s just make everything awkward and they would probably go back to being not-friends.

They weren’t exactly friends now, per se. There was still a strain between them. Sure, it changed─it was no longer anger and tension. It was worse, and the only reason it was even there was Steve’s fault. Because he wouldn’t stop babying Tony (who had told him countless times to _stop_ ), making sure that Tony had everything he needed within arms reach.

All this attention was annoying.

Sure, normally he would bask in the attention given to him. But only when he was at full capacity. The only reason Steve gave him his attention was because Tony was injured. That wasn’t a really pretty thought.

Tony tried to swat those thoughts away and go back to enjoying the movie. Steve was chuckling again next to him as the burglar slipped down the stairs on the screen. He commented something about ‘genius’ and ‘TV really is awesome’.

The thoughts never really left Tony’s mind, though.

***

It was the third week and Tony was doing just fine. He survived this long, he could survive some more with an injured leg.

He had been resting way more than he used to (still not enough to everyone else) and eating mostly regularly (whenever he wasn’t locked in his workshop). He spent more time outside socialising with his teammates (watching movies and series. Thor tried to get him hooked on reality TV, but it was just uninteresting). He felt closer than ever to them.

And that’s why it was even more difficult to see them go out on missions without them.

At this point in his recovery, his _skin_ itched for action. He could barely stand it─not being able to feel the armour’s mechanics against his skin, the air rushing against his cheeks whenever he flipped up the faceplate, to see his friends fighting alongside him─

It was almost as bad as the pain on his foot. Which wasn’t getting any better, by the way. It was still just as painful as the first day, just as swollen, and just as sensitive. Tony felt like every effort he made was useless each time his foot sent painful jolts up his leg.

His foot always felt uncomfortable after a few minutes. Tony would prop it up on a cushioned chair in a way, then the next minute his toes were itching and he had to change position. Or he would be walking around with his crutches, his foot levelled up so it wouldn’t graze the floor, and he would feel the weight of his body going right to his foot, like all the blood immediately rushed down to bring him down. And he would. Go down, that is. He would feel exhausted and in pain, the only thing he managed was crashing on his bed, couch, or chair, whatever was more accessible.

The meds worked, generally. And they were often useful. Except for the times they didn’t work so well and Tony had to bear the atrocious pain. (But never in front of anyone. Ever. Only JARVIS, DUM-E and U were witnesses to his whimpering and choked sobs.) He felt like he could pass out from the pain─it always left him exhausted, anyway, so he did end up sleeping afterward.

Tony had an appointment with his doctor the next day, and that thought made his pain a little bit more bearable. He’ll complain about his meds, about the time it was taking, and about the pain. The doctor would say that his ankle was healing exceedingly well, that he’d be able to walk in a couple weeks, and that everything would go back to normal. That Tony would be ready to fly again and _help_.

Like the Avengers were doing right now.

They didn’t say _where_ , and they had somehow convinced JARVIS to forbid Tony from looking. It was annoying, and Tony threatened of changing JARVIS’ code because he was supposed to obey _only Tony_.

So Tony was clueless about their whereabouts, which made everything difficult. He hated this uselessness, this incapacity to aid them, to _do something_. He used to have everything figuratively at his fingertips; anything he wanted he’d have it, anything he couldn’t have he’d make it. And now he could do neither.

Because he was uselessly sat on his couch. He couldn’t even search around the kitchen for a snack─he could lose equilibrium and fall, and then who would help him up? And he certainly refused to think about the pain that would entail.

(Once, during the second week, Thor had been a little careless to where he was going and brushed─the lightest of brushes─against Tony’s foot. It took Tony everything to not shout from the pain it gave him. But from everyone’s worried looks, he’d done a bad job of hiding the pain.

Since then everyone was immensely careful to their surroundings.)

The thought of not being able to even feed himself frustrated him to no point, and he unconsciously twitched his foot against the low table as cursed vehemently. And then he cursed some more a pain shot up because of the friction. It was the slightest of twitches─but the heel of his foot jolted against the table and _damnit if it didn’t hurt_ ─

He took his painkillers, sacrificing his good night sleep, and dozed off on the couch as he felt the pain numbing.

The next day, the doctor said that there was a high probability that he would end up with a limp. Permanently.

***

He did end up constructing that mechanical skeleton to help the strain on his right leg. He based it mostly on the exoskeleton the military appropriated for themselves. It lifted an enormous weight off his bad leg. The pain was still there─the blood still rushed down─but it was slightly more bearable.

And Bruce was there to help him. It was amazing having a friend that actually understands and shares your passion. He still couldn’t quite believe it sometimes.

Tony was testing it─there was nobody else with a broken leg in the vicinity to test it for him (and even if there were, it wouldn’t have been a good idea to give an untested creation to someone else and put them in danger). And good thing there wasn’t, because Tony slipped.

Or would have slipped, hadn’t it been for Captain America’s fast reflexes.

Steve carefully carried him to the couch, laying him down gently. He then picked up Tony’s fallen crutches and placed them next to him.

They were thankfully alone, so no one else was witness to Tony’s slip up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony was muttering under his breath, cradling his foot and making sure everything was okay and in its rightful place. “ _Fuck everything_ ─the exoskeleton is a failure─JARVIS note a defect in the popliteal fossa and waist─also, the equilibrium needs some adjustments─”

When Tony stopped his incessant talk, mostly babblings to JARVIS through the sharp pain, Steve said, “The ex─ ec─ skeleton thing isn’t a failure. It helped you greatly.”

But Tony was already shaking his head violently, even before Steve had finished his sentence properly. “ _No_. It needs to be perfect─ I could’ve─ seriously injured myself, and normally that wouldn't really matter but─ I’ve been trying so hard to recover and─ and if I fall, this would all be useless─” He could feel his throat closing up with emotion and pushed them fiercely away. No breakdown in front of Captain America. “I just want to walk again.”

“And you will,” Steve said, assuredly, so confident that he almost convinced Tony. “And you don’t need to worry. We’ll be here─I’ll be here right beside you to help you.”

Tony bit his lip to swallow down nausea that came up with the feeling of uselessness that washed over him─how useless he was.

“I don’t need your help,” he said, sharper than he had meant to.

It didn’t seem to dishearten Steve, though. In fact, it only made him more earnest. “I know you don’t. You’re a capable man, I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, and there was no ‘most of the time’ left behind like it always did in the rare occasion someone said those words to him. “You’ve made it here on your own. We’re not trying to take away your autonomy, Tony. We’re only here in case you _want_ our help.”

Involuntarily, Tony’s heartbeat sped up a little too fast.

“I’ll always offer you my help. Not because I think you need it, but because I want to, and so you know it’s there if you want it, too.”

 _Damn_.

Steve’s eyes were light blue, shining, and unconditionally honest. “And because I hope that you’d want it, at some point.”

Tony swallowed with some difficulty and looked away. He could feel his cheeks getting uncomfortably hot, and he knew it wasn’t from shame.

After a minute of feeling Steve’s eyes on him, he sat up and patted the place next to him. “Have you watched any James Bond movies? At some point in one’s life, everyone references those.”

Steve’s gaze became impossibly softer and he sat next to Tony. “Clint did tell me that,” he answered. “I watched some of them, though I’m not sure of the order…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tony said, waving a hand, “some of the movies are more related than others so I can forgive you.” He felt relief wash over him as he felt the flush receding. “Do you want to watch it chronologically or by actor?”

***

All right. Okay. So he had a growing crush on Steve Rogers. So _what_.

It didn’t matter.

His behaviour didn’t change around Steve. He didn’t give him sultry looks or lovesick eyes. He didn’t stare at him needlessly, and he certainly didn’t _fawn_ over him.

He didn’t change.

Except he did─spent more time with him, next to him, watching every Bond movie from the start. Steve had the time, since he didn’t actually have a job, and Tony doubly so. So they mostly laid on the couch, watching TV, movie after movie, to the point that the others complained about stealing the TV.

“Steve needs to be up to date with today’s references, have a little compassion,” Tony tutted, huddled between Steve and Thor on the couch. “Besides, you all have your own TV in your rooms.”

“So you too definitely could watch these movies there,” Natasha snarked, because she loved her TV series.

That’s how he was kicked out of his own couch, his own living room, and forced to give up his own TV. He was too tolerant with them.

That’s also how he ended up lying on Steve’s bed, watching TV. Well, at least it was more comfortable than the low table for his foot.

***

During the fifth week, Tony did X-rays of his foot and went to see an orthopaedic to make sure everything was going smoothly down there. His foot was indeed getting better. Extremely slowly, but getting better nonetheless. And his bruised ribs were healed, which was a pain he didn’t have to worry about anymore.

When he got back home, he sprawled on the couch and waited for the nurse to come so he could go down to his workshop. He was a little ashamed to admit that he didn’t go there for some time now (almost twenty-four hours, which is a record). It made his skin itchy and his hands twitchy as he could _almost_ feel the guts of wires and cables of his armours around his forearm.

But the doctor said that he could leave the crutches in two or three weeks if everything went as planned and that certainly lifted Tony’s mood. He’d be able to walk around again, just within arm’s reach… Sure, he would be limping at first, and he’d be doing strengthening exercises… he could live with that if it meant _walking again_.

(He refused to think about what the doctor said about a permanent limp.)

He also wasn’t on meds anymore (couldn’t risk getting addicted to opioids), which meant he could probably drink alcohol again. It was really, _really_ , tempting, but he decided against it… he _was_ making progress.

Steve walked in, humming to himself what Tony recognised as ‘Skyfall’, and started rummaging around with the cupboards.

“Whatcha looking for?” Tony asked, mildly interested.

“Crisps. Have you seen them?”

Tony looked down at himself, at the crumbs scattered around his lap. “Yup,” he replied, amused.

Steve abandoned the cupboards and approached. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He motioned to his lap and looked up at Steve through his lashes. “You can lick them off if you’re really desperate.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t say stuff like that. For Steve’s (and Tony’s) sake.

Steve’s face immediately reddened as he looked fleetingly at Tony’s lap before going back up to his face. Tony took pity on him and waved the bag of crisps around. “With any luck, there might be a bottom left.”

Still blushing, Steve accepted the offered bag and peeked inside it. He instantly looked delighted and sat next to Tony, fishing a handful of crisps. “Thanks. These are godsent.”

“Sure,” Tony said, amused.

“What’re you watching?”

“Watching actual TV and not chosen movies. I dunno, I think it’s a christmas movie. And by their phones, I’m guessing around early 21st century.”

“We’re still in early 21st century, Tony,” Steve said, the smartass.

Tony sighed dramatically. “No, early _early_. Like the 2000s.”

Steve’s eyes danced with amusement before getting interested in the movie.

The nurse came right in the middle of the movie, which turned out to be a romantic comedy, and Tony couldn’t find it in himself to jokingly hit on her as he normally would.

***

Two months of walking around in crutches to the point they felt like his own limbs. At first, he couldn’t get used to them─they felt awkward around his hands, around his arms, and completely unnecessary.

That doesn’t mean he wasn’t ecstatic of getting rid of them when the doctor allowed him. He made him experimentally put his foot down (and okay, there was definitely some pain, but it was way more bearable) and take some steps around the man’s office.

Tony had been a little hesitant, effectively clutching at Steve’s arm as he guided him (because of _course_ Steve came with him as a form of support, and Tony couldn’t really find it in himself to send him away). But then he started limping, dragging his foot around. It was awkward, and something he definitely wasn’t used to doing in front of others, but he did it.

The doctor congratulated him and said that his heavy limp would disappear in a couple of months─or less─and that then he could go back to being Iron Man. As it was, he still ordered him to rest, but that he was allowed to work on armours and all the pet projects Tony had to put on hold.

He also gave him an ankle brace that he was to use at all times except when sleeping. Tony was okay with that.

There was cake when he returned home, and everyone was there─the Avengers, Pepper, and Rhodey. Steve looked sheepish next to him, commenting that he nearly let the surprise party slip up. Tony felt a little emotional and instinctively swallowed it down.

The cake, accompanied with his freedom from the crutches, felt excellent against his taste buds.

Steve’s mouth, later that night, also tasted amazing. Champagne. He thought, for a second, that Steve might have kissed him because of inebriation, but quickly remembered that he wasn’t affected by alcohol at all and proceeded to enjoy the kiss thoroughly.

And revelled in all the captivating sounds that left Steve’s mouth.

All in all, one of the top five days of his life.


End file.
